File: Watson
by dalekchung
Summary: John Watson's blog didn't capture the exact events of those two weeks with Alex. This is what happened in those two weeks, told by our favorite spy. (Companion to "File: John" and "File: Mycroft"; Timeline runs mostly parallel with "File: John")
1. Day One: Meeting Alex Baker

**Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider. I don't own Sherlock. I don't own John. I don't own Mycroft. I don't own a car. I don't own a Stradivarius violin. I don't own a llama. We done?**

 **A/N: I noticed some inaccuracies in the timeline as I typed this up, but if you notice any, please ignore it! Just assume this is very AU-ish :)**

File: Watson 01

 _Day One: Meeting Alex Baker_

Alex Rider had thought he'd seen the last of Mycroft Holmes after the mission in Serbia, but it looked like that wasn't the case. It seemed that once someone got tangled in the Holmes' lives, they were stuck with the two. This was definitely true for him.

"Passport, official papers," Mycroft handed him a stack of important looking documents, "You will be assuming the identity of 'Alex Baker' for the next two weeks. You will be living in 221B with Sherlock and John. You will accompany them if they have cases. You will not reveal that I have sent you."

"This isn't my first mission, you know," Alex muttered sullenly in a teenager-ish fashion.

Mycroft ignored this statement, and handed him a cell phone "If you need to contact me, use this phone. I expect reports every other day."

Alex wrinkled his nose, slipping the offered cell into his pocket where it clicked against his _other_ cell phone, which contained the number that would allow him to directly contact Mrs. Jones. His recreational cell phone had wisely been left at home.

"Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, has already been taken care of," Mycroft leaned back in his chair, not taking his eyes off of Alex, "You're a friend that needs a place to live for two weeks. Mrs. Hudson kindly offered."

Alex nodded, "Anything else?"

Mycroft handed the teenager a small backpack, "Clothes and a tracker. Make sure you bring this with you at all times."

Alex accepted the backpack, now impatient.

"They should be done with their latest case," the man mused, "Go ahead."

The teenager grinned and darted away. He was going to meet _the_ Sherlock Holmes!

FILE*WATSON

Alex 'Baker' lounged on the sofa, waiting for the consulting detective and his blogger to return. He had briefly popped into the station to check on them. The place was flooded with police, so Alex wisely backed away, choosing instead to go to 221B Baker Street.

"…need to do something relaxing."

Alex perked up when he heard the male voice outside the door. He'd been waiting for such a long time already.

"Yes, like an experiment!" someone, obviously Sherlock, responded.

The other person paused for a moment, "No… Like sleeping."

Alex snorted quietly as the door swung open

"It must be blissfully empty up there," Sherlock was probably pointing at John's head. So the rumors were true. Sherlock was a jerk.

"Yes," the other man said sarcastically, "so empty that I noticed the strange man on our sofa before you."

The two walked into view. Sherlock waved a hand, "Oh, don't worry. He's a friend of Mrs. Hudson."

Alex sat up, pretending to look bleary, "Um – sorry. You're Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, right?"

He turned to John when he mentioned Sherlock, and he turned to Sherlock as he mentioned John. Inwardly, he grinned devilishly.

"Oh, no, no," John was flustered, "I'm John, and that's Sherlock."

Sherlock had turned away from the pair to stride into the kitchen. Alex had already explored the refrigerator and the counters. Honestly, it was disgusting.

"I'm Alex. Alex Baker," Alex stood to shake John's hand, "I'm a friend of Mrs. Hudson. I needed a place to live for a couple weeks – I've just come home from America – and she offered. Said you guys wouldn't mind… I'll take the sofa and everything!"

John gave him a small smile, "No problem," he led the younger boy into the kitchen where Sherlock was fiddling with something, "Sherlock, say 'hi'."

Sherlock turned, a gloved hand holding a dyed green eyeball. He studied Alex with a critical eye.

John groaned, already regretting his words, knowing he had made a mistake, "Wai-"

"New York City or Los Angeles? No, that's a stupid question. You have a tan – a bit of sunburn too. Los Angeles. Your trip there wasn't pleasant. Probably ran into some unexpected friends," Sherlock was talking very quickly, "Your slightly crooked nose indicates that at some point – fairly recently seeing that the cut on your face hasn't scarred over yet. Your posture says that you have recently been through a traumatic experience. You don't trust us, but you're trying to look casual.

"Clothes: clean, ironed. Expensive. You don't have any trouble finding your own place. You have enough money. That suggests you're running away from something. Someone? Yes, someone. You don't want to lead them to your place. Not for the sake of your family, I'm afraid. They've been dead for a while.

"Money, freedom, and fighting. You're a fugitive. You were recently part of a gang, but you didn't like it – hence the lack of tattoos – so you left America. You changed your identity too. Slight hesitation when you introduced yourself. Clearly, 'Alex Baker' isn't your real name. Conclusion: gang."

Alex stared at the man, startled. The man had managed to deduce a lot more than he had originally thought.

"A gang?" John frowned, "Why did you join a gang?"

Alex had quickly recovered. He crossed his arms, wearing a smirk. He turned to Sherlock, "Not even remotely close."

" _What?"_ Sherlock was glaring at Alex, clearly not believing him

"What?" John echoed, looking back and forth between the two men, "Sherlock's wrong?"

"Shut up, John," Sherlock didn't take his eyes off of Alex, "I'm _not_ wrong. All the tell-tale signs are there."

"Well, you're wrong," Alex shrugged, turning away, "You can read the tell-tall signs of _not_ lying, can't you?"

"No," Sherlock sounded annoyed "that's impossible. You were in a gang in Los Angeles!"

"Leave it, Sherlock," Alex heard John warn.

Obviously the other man didn't take heed.

 _Squelsh!_

Alex froze as he felt something smashing against his back with extreme speed. Something made a _plooping_ sound before sliding down the length of his back and landing on the floor with another _plock!_

He slowly turned, noting the eyeball – still as green as ever – on the floor.

"Sherlock!" John shouted as the man spun around to grab another eyeball.

Alex glared, "You did _not_ just throw an eyeball at me."

"On the contrary," Sherlock held out another eyeball, "I did."

The younger man stormed over to the consulting detective, angry words already picked out.

"Woah, woah," John was standing between them, "Calm down! And for God's sake, Sherlock! _Put down the eyeball!"_

* * *

 **A/N: Okay, I don't want to leave the Alex Rider/Sherlock universe... So I decided to do a companion piece to "File: John", told in Alex's POV about his two weeks in 221B. There will most likely be 14 chapters (more like one-shots all mashed up together).**

 **Please note that this story is just a bit of fun for me and is third on my prioritizing list (after _Operation Zeta_ and _AWOL)._**

 **Thank you for your reads, favorites, follows, and reviews on my previous stories! I hope you'll enjoy this one just as much!**

 **-Alice x**


	2. Day Two: The Soldier

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider nor do I own Sherlock.**

File: Watson 02

 _Day Two: The Soldier_

 _Ring ring!_

Alex woke up with a tiny jerk. He cursed his light sleeping for a moment, wanting nothing but to snuggle back into the covers, before remembering how many times his light sleeping had saved his life.

Alex sat up, looking around for the source of the noise. It had been a phone – not either of his.

"Yes?" Sherlock was already up, doing something clever in the kitchen. Alex would normally love to poke his nose in his business, but he really didn't want another eyeball thrown at him.

"No," came Sherlock's blunt reply to whatever the person had said. He hung up violently, tossing his phone carelessly on the table.

 _Ring ring!_

Sherlock ignored his ringing phone, returning back to whatever he had been doing.

Alex yawned, turning to face the detective, "Aren't you going to get that?"

Sherlock didn't bother looking up at him, "Unimportant."

 _Ring ring!_

Alex shrugged and laid back down on the sofa.

 _Ring ring!_

"Sherlock," John called, sounding exhausted, "answer your cell, will you?"

The man's footsteps were loud against the floor. Alex groaned internally. He obviously wasn't going to get anymore sleep, was he?

 _Ring ring!_

"Oh, for God's sake!" John snatched up the phone that Sherlock had so carelessly tossed away a moment ago, "Hello?"

Alex couldn't hear the response.

"Yeah, this is John," John said, looking confused, "Mycroft?"

A pause.

"A murder?" John questioned, now looking alert, "Where? _Wales?_ You want us to go to Wales?"

Another pause.

"Yeah, hold on," John sighed and handed the phone to Sherlock. Alex watched curiously as the former soldier glared pointedly at the detective.

Sherlock made a small noise in the back of his throat, accepting the phone, "I'm busy."

Another pause. Alex could hear Mycroft speaking quite loudly, though he couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Well, can't you find someone else to do it?"

Alex huffed and sat crosslegged on the sofa, peering at the two.

"Lots of soldiers die." Sherlock missed the furious glare that John sent him as he stooped to find something, "Can't you just assu-"

There was a long pause as Mycroft began a long lecture on the other end of the phone. Finally, Sherlock groaned childishly, "Fine."

As soon as he hung up, John was on him, "'Lots of soldiers die'? What did you exactly mean by that?"

Sherlock waved him off, "Case in Wales. It's at a military base in Brecon Beacons. Ever heard of it?"

" _Not_ what I was talking about," John muttered before addressing Sherlock's question, "Brecon Beacons… Isn't that an SAS base?"

"Precisely," Sherlock said, "So the murderer must be someone in that camp – most likely someone on the staff. A doctor, nurse, perhaps the kitchen staff."

"Great," John nodded, a little sarcastic, "When do we leave?"

Sherlock checked his phone, having received a text, "Now."

"Hold on," Alex stood up, "You're going on a case now?"

Sherlock sighed, exasperated, "Yes. Keep up, stupid."

Alex ignored the jibe, "Can I come? I mean..."

John glanced at Sherlock, unsure. The detective studied Alex for a moment (something that he had been doing regularly), before nodding, "Don't get in the way, and don't think. It's distracting."

"Don't think?" Alex questioned, "How is thinking distracting?"

Sherlock didn't reply. Instead, he swept out of the room, muttering something about packing. John followed after a slight hesitation, pausing only to tell Alex to pack up.

Alex rolled his eyes, picking up his backpack. He rifled through the pockets, drawing out the newer phone. He had one unread message, presumably from Mycroft.

 _From: MH_

 _Going with Sherlock and John? -MH_

Alex quickly sent back a text.

 _To: MH_

 _Yes. dw._

A response came in as quickly as Alex had sent his last text.

 _From: MH_

 _Doctor Who? -MH_

Alex couldn't help the little snort of laughter that came out of him.

 _To: MH_

 _It means 'don't worry'. Now go away._

There was no response, so Alex slipped the phone back into his backpack. He waited another few minutes before John and Sherlock appeared.

"Right," John grabbed his coat as Sherlock turned up the collar of his own jacket, "Let's go."

Alex stood, snatching a deerstalker hat from nearby, grinning cheekily, "Sherlock, aren't you forgetting something?"

Sherlock scowled, marching out of the apartment as John began to laugh.

FILE*WATSON

Alex, Sherlock, and John arrived at Brecon Beacons several hours later in a car that Mycroft had provided. They left the driver outside the base.

Alex immediately noticed the presence of Scotland Yard. He had met them twice before and both times weren't under the best circumstances. However, he found that most of the officers were pleasant and somewhat cooperative.

Sherlock led Alex and John towards the scene, which was enclosed by yellow tape with bold letters on them.

"Sherlock," a man greeted, making his way over to the three. Alex recognized the man as Lestrade. He'd never personally met the man, but he had heard about him several times.

"Grant," Sherlock ducked underneath the crime scene tape.

Judging by the annoyed expression on Lestrade's face, Alex could tell that 'Grant' wasn't his name.

"What do we have?" Sherlock asked, accepting a pair of gloves from another detective. Similarly, Alex and John pulled on a pair.

"Male, late twenties," Lestrade rattled off, "Excellent physical condition – he'd have to be. It looks like he died from a natural cause. A stroke or something – that's what the M.E. said."

Alex followed as Sherlock expertly circled the body, his eyes searching the body with a sort of gleeful fascination.

"Alex," he was pulled out of his own investigation when Sherlock suddenly turned to him, "Tell me what you see."

Alex glanced at John for a moment, who nodded encouragingly.

"Woah, woah," Lestrade stopped Alex, before turning to Sherlock, "You can't just start taking random strangers with you to crime scenes and let them touch the bodies. I made an exception for John, but-"

"Then make another exception," Sherlock said impatiently, "Mycroft cleared him to come with me."

The lie was quite evident to Alex, as he knew Mycroft had done nothing to let Sherlock suspect their involvement or communication.

Lestrade hesitated, but after a moment, let Alex go.

Alex knelt, staring at the dead man's face. He didn't recognize him, but it still sent a little shiver down his spine. He'd come here a month ago to give a small lecture about terrorists.

The man's lips were slightly blue, hanging open just a little as if he had been gasping for air. His eyes were wide open, but Alex didn't linger there. He moved down to the man's exposed hands, noting the blue fingers.

"You can't tell too much from the body without an official autopsy," Alex said, ignoring Sherlock's disdainful grunt, "but it looks like his air supply was cut off. He wasn't strangled – no bruises – so it had to be either from poison or from a natural cause. _But,_ natural causes don't cause what appears to be multiple embolisms. One was in his head, a cerebral embolism, therefore causing the stroke that your M.E saw. He also had a pulmonary embolism – that's when the arteries in the lungs become blocked by a blood clot – which unfortunately caused his death. Then, he had several arterial embolisms. You can tell by the infarction in his hands. And that the way he's awkwardly splayed. He probably felt the pins and needles before his air supply was cut off."

Alex looked up to see all three of the men staring at him. Sherlock looked impassive, though years of training let Alex see the small signs of interest he displayed. Both Lestrade and John looked at him, slightly open-mouthed in wonder.

"Goodness," John muttered mostly to Lestrade.

"It's like there are two of them," Lestrade agreed.

Alex grinned.

* * *

 **A/N: If you notice something wrong with the medical/deducing part of the chapter (or, as I like to think of it, a one-shot in a story), please tell me. I'm not a medical student, so all that information came from eight seasons of _House, M.D.,_ the internet, and small comments made by my relatives (who are all doctors. They all went to Harvard or Boston University or UPenn. GAHHH WHY AM I SO DUMB COMPARED TO THEM)**

 **Hem, anyway... Hope you liked this.**

 **-Alice x**


	3. Chapter 3: Cub

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. I do not own Alex Rider.**

 **A/N: I noticed some discrepancy between this story and the original one-shot "File: John" (such as the fact that the soldier wasn't killed on base in the original one-shot). _But,_ you guys don't mind right? I'd rather not go back and rewrite last chapter, lol.**

* * *

File: Watson 03

 _Day Three: Cub_

Alex was woken early the next morning when Sherlock roughly shook him, already dressed. Personally, Alex thought that the man hadn't slept at all. It was definitely a possibility, seeing as Sherlock Holmes was probably bored by sleep.

John, also barely awake, and Alex were dragged to the morgue of a nearby hospital, where the dead soldier had been taken for his autopsy.

It was civilian hospital, but it didn't look like one that day. Alex could see multiple military vehicles in the parking lot, sloppily parked as if the drivers had been in a rush. He could see soldiers milling around, both outside, and inside.

Scotland Yard was there too. Alex could see the detective from yesterday, Lestrade, arguing with the receptionist.

Sherlock led the way inside the hospital, his coat majestically billowing out behind him. Alex couldn't help but think of Severus Snape from the _Harry Potter Series._ At the thought, he snorted loudly.

"You okay?" John fell in step with Alex, eyeing Sherlock, who spared a few, quick words with Lestrade, then headed for the elevator.

"Yeah," Alex contemplated whether to tell him about his thoughts, "Peachy."

"Morgue?" John asked Sherlock as they filed into the elevator.

Sherlock nodded curtly, staring impatiently at the doors, as if that would make it open faster.

"Did you get the report?" Alex asked, eyebrow quirked.

The consulting detective didn't even spare him a glance, "Don't need it."

"Of course," Alex muttered under his breath, though he was sure the other two could hear him.

The elevator opened with a soft _ding!_

Sherlock was already out before the doors could completely open, John on his heels.

Alex stepped out too, glancing around. There wasn't much except the door at the end of the hallway, reading "MORGUE" in bold letters. Three soldiers were there, lingering by the doors. Alex didn't know them, but he was sure that he had seen them around.

Apparently, they hadn't gotten the memo about him being undercover because their eyes were instantly drawn to him, completely disregarding the more impressive duo in front of them.

"Sir!" They leapt into a respectful salute.

Sherlock ignored them, pushing past the doors and into the morgue.

John must have thought that the soldiers had saluted for _him._ Alex couldn't blame him. The man was a veteran after all.

"At ease, soldiers."

The three soldiers cast a confused look to Alex, who nodded, a grin playing at his lips. The three relaxed their positions as John brushed past them, entering the morgue.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Alex acknowledged the three before following the other two.

Sherlock and John had already asked for the body. A pathologist in a pristine, white lab coat had led them over to a naked, evidently dead body. Alex took his place next to John.

"...multiple embolisms," the pathologist was saying to Sherlock, who looked the most authoritative out of all of them, "It was caused by low doses of hydrogen peroxide, administered every day. It must have been going on for _years._ This poor fellow wouldn't have suspected a thing if it was in his food. He could have tasted a little bitterness perhaps, but nothing major. The final dose must have been the trigger."

"Could it have been from anything else besides the food? Accidental poisoning maybe?" Alex asked, pointedly looking away from the corpse.

"Well, it's certainly a possibility," the pathologist said vaguely before waltzing away.

"So he didn't find damage in the stomach or intestinal lining?" Alex confirmed.

"Well _obviously_ not," Sherlock sounded like he wanted to roll his eyes.

Alex bristled at his words, before sarcastically replying, "Well, _I'm sorry_ that I'm not a psychopath that can deduce dead bodies from one glance!"

"I'm not a psychopath," the detective said hotly, "I'm a highly function _sociopath."_

"Oh what a _big_ difference," Alex retorted.

John intervened, seeing the annoyance in Sherlock's face, "Ladies, ladies."

The two turned to glare at him.

"We're in the presence of a-" John gestured wildly at the dead man. "Let's be respectful, shall we?"

"He's _dead,"_ Sherlock explained, exasperated, "He doesn't care if we're arguing."

Alex jumped on the opportunity to continue the argument, "I suppose you only say that because you haven't known anyone who died!"

"On the contrary," Sherlock raised his voice, "I've known plenty of people-"

"Personally?" Alex questioned, folding his arms in front of him.

John groaned, elbowing Sherlock in the side, " _You,"_ he snapped at Sherlock, "Go stand in that corner."

"I will _not_ be treated like a little kid!" Sherlock crossed his arms too, "If anything, _he_ should stand in the corner. He's the one who won't tell us who he is."

"You're acting just like a little kid," Alex shot back, "And _you_ should learn how to respect people's privacy!"

Sherlock scoffed, turning to face the doctor, "John, tell him. You're perfectly fine with the way I am, right?"

"Well..." John hesitated, "You _do_ have problems with..."

"Oh for goodness' sake!" Sherlock threw his arms up in the air, " _He's_ the one in the gang!"

Alex balled his fists, trying to push his irritation away, "I'm not in a gang, Sherlock."

"What is going on?" the pathologist had obviously heard the commotion, "Mr. Holmes! Put down the riding crop!"

Alex jerked. He hadn't noticed it, but Sherlock had pulled a riding crop, meant for horses, out from his coat and was pointing it threateningly at the pathologist.

"What the hell do you need that for?" Alex snapped at the detective, "We already know the time of death, idiot."

"I don't trust others. They always mess up," Sherlock retorted, turning the crop on the corpse, "And I'm not an idiot, you moron."

" _Mr. Holmes!_ I will call security!" the pathologist hurried away.

Sherlock didn't pay any attention to the man.

 _Crack!_

"Sherlock!" John face-palmed.

"Sherlock," Alex mimicked, glaring at the man, still miffed at being called a moron.

The consulting detective got at least twenty lashes in before a squad of security guards flooded in, quickly tackling Sherlock to the floor.

And so they found themselves escorted out of the morgue, where the three soldiers stared curiously. They were taken into the lobby, Sherlock's hands pinned behind him. Alex smirked at his misfortune.

"What happened?" Lestrade stared at them, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"The kitchen staff did it," Sherlock said as they passed by.

Lestrade followed them with hurried footsteps as they were taken towards the doors, "The kitchen staff? Which one? Or was it all of them?"

"It's the fidgety one," Alex stopped to say seriously. He was quickly pulled away by a disgruntled security guard.

"The fidgety one?" Alex heard Lestrade question, mostly to himself. He had stopped in the middle of the lobby, thinking to himself.

"There's always a fidgety one!" Alex called.

Sherlock, John, and Alex were unceremoniously dumped outside of the doors, the guards telling them not to come in again.

"Well," John filled in the silence after the guards had went back inside. Alex could see a few of them lingering in the area, waiting for them to try to make their way back in, "That was eventful."

"It was his fault," Sherlock glared at Alex. He was now crop-less. The guards had taken his riding crop away and hadn't returned it.

"How is it my fault?" Alex glared back, indignant.

"Well if you hadn't-"

"Morning, gentlemen," a new voice cut off Sherlock's argument.

The three turned to face a man that Alex recognized right away. Sergeant Morrison, the SAS Brecon Beacons Sergeant, stood behind them, flanked by two other officers.

"Cub?" Morrison questioned, an eyebrow raised at Alex.

Alex wanted to shake his head furiously at the man, but Sherlock and John were too close. They could see his movements.

"Of course you'd be here," Morrison said to himself, before turning away, "Jaguar was a fine soldier. The very best, you know?"

He brushed past them, seemingly forgetting the three.

Alex stared after him.

"Who's Cub?" John asked, the question directed at Alex.

Alex merely shook his head, lying through his teeth, "No idea."

"Liar!" Sherlock insisted, "Your body language shows..."

In the corner of his eye, Alex spotting John face-palming. _Again._

* * *

 **A/N: I think that was the fastest I've ever written. It's because I'm tired. I hate being tired... My parents decided it would be funny to let me get four hours of sleep... though I guess they didn't know I feel asleep at four...**

 **Thank you all for your reviews! I hope this chapter/one-shot (but not really) was up to par with the others...**

 **To Skendo, who asked if I thought about writing a _House, M.D./Alex Rider_ crossover: I have thought about it, but I'm not sure if I want to. I mean, _I want_ to, but the writer inside me doesn't. It's because there are so many medical terms and confusing terminology... My nightmare, haha.**

 **To Guest, who reassured me I'm not dumb: haha, thank you. I suppose writing for a** **fantastic audience is a plus side of not studying like a crazed woman xD**

 **OH and that brings me to the fact that I have no idea of hydrogen peroxide can cause embolisms. I just googled, "what causes embolisms?" and I saw it somewhere, so I used it, lol.**

 **Alright, I'm off to sleep, then do math... Do you know how confusing it is to learn things by yourself? FRUSTRATION.**

 **-Alice x**


	4. Chapter 4: Mystery Revealed

**Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider. I don't own Sherlock.**

 **A/N: Sorry for the wait, little Daleks! Life has been hectic, but not hectic enough to pry me away from my beloved fanfics!**

* * *

File: Watson 04

 _Day Four: Mystery Revealed_

Alex settled in with Sherlock and John quite nicely. Well, not with Sherlock, but he had become friends with John. The man was very accepting, and Alex found that he could relate with the former soldier.

"Do you want some fish 'n chips?" John called from his chair. He had been typing furiously, most likely in his famous blog. He'd finished just a moment ago, a satisfied look on his face.

Alex had never read John's blog, but he made a quick mental note to do so after the two weeks were over.

"Sure," Alex nodded, stretching. He had been on his own laptop, replying to emails. Most of them were from other intelligence agencies, asking for advice. Unfortunately, he'd only gotten through a fraction of the emails. He was just that popular.

"Sherlock," John called to the genius, who was in the kitchen, experimenting on something Alex didn't really care about, "We're going out for something to eat."

The consulting detective looked back briefly, holding something green in between his tweezers, "Is Baker going with you?"

John rolled his eyes, "Yes, Sherlock. _Alex_ is coming."

Sherlock promptly dropped the green thing into a vial of liquid and stripped off his gloves and goggles, "Where are we going?"

Alex rolled his eyes at the man and logged out of his laptop, placing it carefully in the backpack by his feet.

"The fish and chips place down the street," John informed him, taking his jacket from the coat hanger, "Care to join us?"

Alex frowned at the invitation, but said nothing. He didn't like Sherlock, and Sherlock didn't like him. However, Alex did like John, and was willing to put up with the exceedingly arrogant sociopath. It couldn't be said the same for Sherlock it seemed.

The man in question was ready in moments, sweeping past Alex to follow John down the stairs. He gave the teen a particularly nasty look that told Alex that he wasn't done trying to solve the mystery.

Alex snorted slightly at that. Many people had tried. All of them had failed. Sherlock would be one of these people.

He followed the two men out the door, shutting the door firmly behind him. It was a short walk to the fish and chips shop, but Alex found himself on edge. He glanced around inconspicuously every so often, but stopped as he realized that Sherlock was still observing him.

Alex and Sherlock waited to the side while John ordered. Alex was doing his best to keep out of the consulting detective's line of questioning, but it wasn't working very well.

The shop was quiet. Alex could only spot two others, who were sitting in a booth in the corner. They were talking in hushed tones, glancing around every once in a while. It was suspicious activity, and Alex kept an eye on them as he attempted to avoid Sherlock's low murmurings.

"You've obviously been through some traumatic experience," he was saying very lowly and very quickly, "It's all there – the looks, the fidgeting. So what else could it have been? You don't look like a drug addict, but gangs deal with drugs too. It encompasses everything. How can it not be it? And where are your parents? I was right about them not being around, but have long have they been gone? Five years at the least. All your life at the most. How old are you anyway? You can't be older than twenty-five. Twenty, if I had to wager a guess-"

Alex let out a soft groan. Though Sherlock had been talking quietly, it was still quite loud in the shop.

"Is he still on about you?" John questioned, making his way to the pair, holding two trays of fish and chips.

"And what sort of name is 'Alex Baker'?" Sherlock snagged a chip from the tray, "Some sort of play on where we live? Baker, Baker Street. There must be hundreds of 'Alex Baker's in the United Kingdom. Why that particular name?"

Alex had kept watch on the pair in the booth as Sherlock had been speaking. At Sherlock's words, 'Alex Baker', they had begun to move, pushing their uneaten fish and chips to the side of the table.

John and Sherlock didn't seem to find this suspicious. John was still looking at Alex with a strange look, as if he was waiting for a response. Sherlock was still muttering under his breath, but it had gotten softer. So had he noticed these strangers?

The two strangers were dressed in fitting black clothes. One was a man, towering at six and a half feet. The other was a shorter woman, looking less of a threat than the man, but Alex had learned that looks were deceiving. There was a chance that she was just as deadly or dangerous as the other man was.

Empty holsters caught Alex's attention. It was at their hips, under their jackets. It was easy to spot, seeing as both of them had pulled out their guns and was pointing it directly in Alex's direction. He quickly shoved Sherlock and John back, taking his place in front of them.

Somewhere in the back of the shop, a man shouted in alarm, dropping something so that it made a cracking, splintering sound.

Sherlock had finally stopped muttering. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex caught a self-satisfied smirk on the man's face. John, on the other hand, had dropped his fish and chips, making a mess.

"Can we help you?" Alex spoke first, seeing that the man and woman made no indication to do so. It was a good thing he did too. Alex noticed that the man had been ready to squeeze the trigger of his gun. At his words, the man relaxed slightly, glancing over at the woman.

The woman was obviously the leader of the duo, while the man was the faithful sidekick. Alex found himself comparing the two to Sherlock and John.

"You are Alex Baker, yes?" Alex had expected a stereotypical accent like a Russian one or something similar. He didn't expect the soft Irish lilt that was barely noticeable in the woman's voice.

Alex narrowed his eyes at her, taking the time to find her weak points. She was leaning a bit to the left, favoring her right leg. Had she hurt herself? It was a good weakness, and Alex filed it away in his brain. He answered the woman, "Yes, I am."

The woman's eyes flickered to the men behind Alex. If she recognized the two, she didn't give any indication. She gave an imperceptible nod and began to talk to the man next to her in another language.

Alex frowned at this. He was familiar with a few languages, but this was one he did not know. It made him on edge, his mind searching for _something_ he could use to defend himself. He had a gun strapped to his ankle, but he couldn't reach down and grab it. The two captors would obviously see that he was going to fight back. They'd kill him, along with Sherlock and John. His two friends (Alex hesitated to categorize Sherlock as a 'friend') were of no value to the man and woman. That much was clear.

The captors had finished talking in their unfamiliar language, and the woman gestured to Alex with her gun, "Come on. Time to meet your boss."

Alex raised his eyebrows quizzically, "My boss?"

The woman corrected herself, "Your former boss. Our," she pointed to herself and the man, "current boss."

"And who might that be?" Alex kept himself calm and collected. He noticed Sherlock shuffling something, a look on his face that could only mean he was up to no good.

The woman smirked very slightly. It was an action that made the hair on Alex's neck stand on end. She gestured again, "You may know him as Fire-Stripe."

Alex nearly snorted aloud when he heard that name. Fire-Stripe ran a local gang. Nothing powerful or dangerous except for the one time they had been exporting illegal goods to a known terrorist organization. Alex had put an end to that, as well as the end of their former leader, Golden-Tooth. Accidentally, of course. Alex tried not to make killing a habit.

"He's finally out of jail, huh?" Alex sneered, stepping closer to the woman.

"If I may," Alex didn't turn at the voice, but he knew it was Sherlock's way of putting his plan into action. The man moved to stand next to Alex. Sherlock turned to the other man, who had lowered his gun a fraction of an inch, "Your wife is in labor now. If you run, you might catch the end bit of it."

The man looked startled. He glanced at the woman, who merely glared back, daring him to go. It was, in Alex's opinion, startling to see the man holster his gun and race out the door.

"Incompetent," the woman muttered under her breath, glaring at Sherlock. She didn't dare take her eyes off of the trio in front of her. She was outnumbered, and Alex knew that she wouldn't try anything. Yet.

"Why are you looking for Alex Baker?" Sherlock questioned. He had an intense look on his face that Alex recognized as his 'I'm interested! Tell me more!' face. "He is of no value. He's just a boy-"

A bitter laugh was squeezed out of the woman, "Just a boy?"

Sherlock leaned forward, something akin to greed lighting up his blue eyes, "Yes. Just a boy. Why are you so interested in him?"

The woman laughed again. It sounded hysterical, "Oh, Baker! I thought you would have told all your friends about us by now. It's not an easy feat, taking us down single-handedly."

Alex clenched his hands into fists, replying bluntly, "I had help."

Sherlock must have noticed that he was getting ready to knock the woman's gun into her own nose. He placed a hand over Alex's shoulder, which infuriated the younger man.

"Taking what down? Who is 'us'? Tell me!"

She sneered at Sherlock's demands. She waved her gun around, almost lazily, "I believe that I am the one with the gun. _I_ am in control. And you will shut your mouth."

Sherlock looked quite annoyed at the last bit. Alex wasn't sure if the man was told to 'shut his mouth' a lot. If Alex was around, he would say that every time the detective walked into the room.

Sherlock retreated a couple of steps before jerking forward violently. At first, Alex thought that the man might have been having a fit, but he realized that Sherlock had thrown a handful of chips at the woman's face.

The woman fired her gun, at the motion. Sherlock and John had thankfully gotten out of the way, and the bullet sailed harmlessly into the wall.

Alex took advantage of the distraction. With a well placed kick, the gun clattered out of the woman's hand. He had full intentions of knocking the woman out and calling MI6 to deal with the mess, but the woman had anticipated his move. She blocked his blow with sturdy arms before returning a few of her own.

Alex let his instincts take over. He had always been an instinctual fighter, seeing as he had gained most of his experience fighting before he had been trained properly by MI6, but his technique was impeccable. Alex wasn't afraid to brag.

Within a minute, the woman was down, out cold, and police officers had begun to file into the shop, shouting something that Alex couldn't discern from the sirens.

"HANDS IN THE AIR!"

He groaned quietly, moving slowly. How was he supposed to get out of this one?

FILE*WATSON

It was nearly ten o'clock at night by the time Alex had escaped from the police station. He was unhurt, an obvious plus, but the police hadn't believed his story. It had taken five MI6 agents, one particularly annoyed Mycroft, and a call from Mrs. Jones to sort out the mess.

Sherlock and John had been released hours ago, much to Alex's annoyance. He wanted to seek refuge on his comfortable couch and sleep for a whole week.

The door to 221B was unlocked when Alex arrived. He locked it behind him, trudging up the stairs. He didn't bother to be quiet, though every spy instinct in him was telling him to do so.

It was suspiciously quiet in the flat when Alex arrived. John's usual spot was unoccupied, and the kitchen was devoid of its usual body parts.

"John?" Alex called, looking around him for some clue as to where they might be, "Sherlock?"

Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and Alex found his breath knocked out of his lungs. He had somehow fallen to the ground in the span of a nanosecond, and something heavy was laying on top of him.

"Good boy, Fifi!" Someone praised. Alex recognized the voice as Sherlock's.

Something wet and slimy made its way up Alex's face, and he dimly recognized it as a dog's tongue.

He shoved the giant off of him.

"You're back," Sherlock's flat tone made Alex scowl, even as he was trying to pacify the excited dog in front of him. It was a border collie, slightly smaller than what Alex had originally estimated him to be.

"You've gotten animals to do your dirty work, I see," Alex bit back, eliciting a small yip of discontent from the dog. He gave 'Fifi' another scratch behind the ears before hauling himself up.

That was short lived, as Sherlock had strolled over. He grabbed a fistful of Alex's shirt and tossed him onto the couch, "John! Come here! I got him."

There was a shuffle, the pounding of feet, and excited sniffling from Fifi. John appeared out of no where, taking his time to glare at Alex suspiciously. For some reason, his glare seemed much worse than Sherlock's.

Alex promptly stopped struggling and sat, Fifi's drool drying on his face.

"Explain," John's voice was eerily calm, and Alex caught Sherlock's smirk.

Alex bit the inside of his cheek, feigning thought. He had already come up with a cover story during his wait. Mycroft had even chipped in a little bit, threatening the police with his umbrella.

"They were part of a local gang," Alex relented (all acting, of course), "You were partially right." He turned to Sherlock at this.

Sherlock merely smirked. It was quite evident what the detective was thinking.

"A few years ago, I was on an assignment-" Alex began.

John cut in, "Assignment?"

Alex nodded, scratching the back of his neck, "I am – was – a police officer. We'd gotten some tips of suspicious activity, and I was sent to go undercover. The gang was broken apart after I had gotten most of them arrested, but not all of them were convicted. Take Fire-Stripe, for instance. He must have wanted his revenge for killing Golden-Tooth. The man and woman: they were just lackeys."

Sherlock had lost his smirk. He was now eyeing Alex with a different look. Had he called Alex's bluff? Alex had been telling enough of the truth. There was no way that the detective could have known.

John, on the other hand, had relaxed and a smile had stretched itself across his face, "It's nice to finally know the truth," he said, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you, Alex Baker, undercover cop. I'm John Watson, blogger."

Alex grinned back and took his hand.

"Undercover!" Sherlock was annoyed, "Of course! How could I miss it? It was all there. It was the lining of his backpack..."

[Insert collective groan]

* * *

 _Unedited (because I'm lazy and got bored with my own writing a paragraph in. Forgive me...)_

Hello! I haven't updated for a while, but I'm back before Sherlock! (Cue hysterical sobbing because after the special, we have to wait another year)

Thank you to **Anna** _(Guest),_ **Guest** _(1)_ , **MLM24** , **SanityMissing** , **Guest** _(2),_ **kingleochuenchom16** , **Jolinnn** , and **Fake Samuel Shem** ( _Guest)_ for your reviews! Since I find it weird to only reply to one of your reviews, I suppose I'll reply to all of them down here:

 **Anna** (Guest): Thank you so much! I hope that future chapters will continue to grasp your interest.

 **Guest** (1): Thanks! Haha, I guess most students understand our pain. Ugh, darned information blasts.

 **MLM24** : Thank you! Hopefully, this is up to par!

 **SanityMissing** : Love the name, by the way, haha. I'm glad you like it!

 **Guest** (2): I knoooooooowwww... I'm sorry, haha. It's been wayyyyy too long, but... better late then never, right? It makes me smile to know that I make you smile!

 **kingleochuenchom16** : haha, yep! Chapter four (finally)! Hope you liked it:)

 **Jolinnn** : Thank you for your kind words! I enjoy writing, especially when you spoil me with reviews, haha

 **Fake Samuel Shem** (Guest): Wow, that was informative! It must have taken you some time to write that all up, haha. I don't mind at all. Though I won't pretend I was insanely confused when I first read through it, I get the gist now! I don't think I'll go back to change it, just because I'm actually a very lazy person at times, but I might use it for future plots... [insert an evil grin]. Thanks for taking so much time to write this info all up!

ALRIGHT, so look forward to "the Deerstalker" next. Don't forget to leave a review!

-Alice ( _for the Magical Me -shamelessly taken from Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart - follow me on twitter at dalekchung)_


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